


The Good Fight

by appalachian_fireflies



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 4f omega verse, Alpha Bucky Barnes, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Canon Disabled Character, Comfort Sex, Disability, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Omega Steve Rogers, Past Torture, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prostitution, Sex Work, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-27
Updated: 2016-08-11
Packaged: 2018-07-27 00:58:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7597126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/appalachian_fireflies/pseuds/appalachian_fireflies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve is an auxiliary omega, trained to treat alphas in stuck in Fight, the ones too shell-shocked and unstable to be sent home.  </p><p>Sergeant James Barnes is a former POW who doesn't want his fucking help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> WORLDBUILDING CREDIT: 
> 
> This draws significantly from Stoatsandwich's 4f verse prostitute Steve and Venusm's discussion of a Fight state in Born From the Earth. Credit where credit is due! Both are amazing and better than anything I could do in an mortal and also immortal life.
> 
> The main idea behind this one was Suppress that Shit (in my author page if you wanna read it), but reversed.

Steve gets out of bed at 2pm, stretches his arms over his head ‘till he hears his back crack into place, and starts his day. 

Shower, toothbrush, shave. Heart pill. Rubbers, lube, tranqs in his kit. 

The girls and the handful of other boys and androgynes are clustered around the board. Steve takes out his book, flips past yesterday’s page of doodles, and writes down the names listed under STEVEN GRANT. 

He smiles a little at Bobby’s name; one handjob, even one blowjob’s never enough for him. He’s young, though, and Steve doesn’t mind ‘cause he knows it helps. Bobby’s charts are reading steady now, ready for reintegration with the general public, low risk of a Fight state. He’ll be sent home soon enough- two legs shorter than he was shipped out. 

There’re a lot of Alphas that got sent to this ward because they’re missing something. All of them are at risk of Fight, keyed up, on edge, desperate to vent their fear and anger and horror somewhere. 

Steve’s seen a couple Fights since he got here. The first snapped another Alpha’s neck with his bare hands before they could tranq him. Another bit her neighbor’s finger off like it was a carrot, then broke down pulling at her hair like she could pull the Fight out of her brain. 

It’s a good thing Steve’s got steady hands and no good sense at all.

“Hey Dot,” he taps a woman with her hair swept into a scarf, “you hear anything about a James Barnes? He new?” 

Dot tuts. “Yeah, he’s straight from the field. Mary tried to talk with him yesterday, but he just rolled over and ignored her for a coupla hours.” 

“Gotta keep my life interesting,” Steve remarks, dry. 

“Rogers!” Miss Evangeline barks. “My office.” 

“Ma’am,” Steve acknowledges, and Dot gives him a secret wince and a mouthed _good luck_. 

Steve shuts the door behind him, stands at attention. 

“Sit,” Miss Evangeline orders, and slides a file across her desk. 

Oh, thank God. He thought he was about to get torn a new one. It’s just a classified file; doesn’t happen often, but sometimes a soldier’s bio can’t be in the general file cabinets. 

Steve opens the file. Most of it’s blacked out, but there’s enough in there to get a general picture. 

“Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes,” Miss Evangeline starts on the highlights. “Prisoner at the Azzano camp liberated last month.” 

“Says here they had him for a coupla years,” Steve notes. 

Miss Evangeline nods briskly. “None of his men made it out. His health was precarious enough over the past month that he was unable to leave his bed. He was released to our care a few days ago.” She taps a perfectly lacquered nail on the desk. “Rogers, turn the page.” 

“Right, sorry ma’am.” It’d been hard to tear his eyes away from the medical report. This page isn’t much better. 

“His hormones fluctuate day to day, but you can see here,” she points, “his cortisol dropped so low they put him on steroids, and that, well. You can imagine.“ 

“Is he feral?” Steve asks. 

Miss Evangeline shakes her head. “He should be. We certainly can’t release him like this, but he doesn’t seem to want any company from female omegas.” 

“Ma’am,” Steve shifts, uncomfortable, “Willie’s better with, uh-" The criers.

“I chose you for a reason, Rogers,” Miss Evangeline says sharply. “You will do your job, unless you petition to transfer out of Auxiliary. Clear?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Steve straightens. He’s worked too hard to get here, and this is the first time he’s felt useful in his life. They’re gonna have to drag him out by his fingernails. He flips through the file some more, but isn’t dismissed. 

“Ma’am, it says here he was experimented on. Do we know how that might have interacted with his biology?” Some of these numbers don’t make a lick of sense, but Steve also has no clue what that could mean. 

“They haven’t been able to identify the substances he was injected with,” Miss Evangeline notes, approval in her tone. “There’s no reason to believe his hormone levels can’t alter with the standard therapy.” 

There’re his orders, his dismissal. “Yes, ma’am,” he salutes, and gets his ass over to the first name on his list. Barnes is listed last. 

*

When he finally gets to Barnes’ room, he knocks softly before he comes in. The setup here isn’t like field triage tents; these Alphas are stable, strong. Reeking distress scents. It’s safer to have them in separate living spaces, even if they’re basically closets. 

Barnes doesn’t answer, so Steve lets himself in quietly. No need; Barnes is awake, staring at nothing. His eyes shift to Steve, then disinterestedly away. 

_Omega-oriented,_ Steve remembers from his file. _Gender indiscriminate_. A little scribble, Mary’s handwriting. _Seems more comfortable around the boys._ Steve looks Barnes over. _Left arm amputated mid-humerus during captivity. Torso scarring, faint. Electrical burns at the base of the scalp…_

Steve pulls the plastic chair to Barnes’ bedside with a protesting screech, pulls out the little desk from the arm. “Silent type, huh?” He shuffles the deck while Barnes ignores him, doesn’t even look at him. “You play cards? Don’t gotta talk to play cards.” Barnes looks over at him for a minute with a flicker of interest, and Steve thinks he’s got him. But he doesn’t even look at the cards, just looks away again. 

“Alright, Sarge,” Steve puts his feet up on Barnes’ bed, lays down his cards. “I can play Solitaire just as easy.” He cracks his neck for good effect and goes at it for an hour. Then two. It’s fucking boring, but Steve’s nothing if not mule-stubborn. 

Times’ up. “Night, Sarge,” Steve nods his head, and Barnes frowns at him, grey eyes squinting. Steve makes sure to turn away before he smiles. 

*

“Evening, Sarge,” Steve says, not reacting to Barnes’ answering frown. “You up for another game of Solitaire? ‘S been a nice break for me, gotta be honest.” He drags his chair over and shuffles his cards, placing them down. “Dot says we got real eggs for breakfast tomorrow, but I think she doesn’t know powdered from beans, so don’t get too excited.” Steve isn’t paying attention while he’s talking, and puts down a red four after a black five. 

He moves to take it away, but Barnes gets there first, neatly plucking the four away and into a column with a red five. 

“Good eye,” Steve says approvingly, but otherwise doesn’t react. “Anyway, I haven’t seen eggs since I was home.”

“You from New York?” Barnes asks, voice soft. He’s got a nice voice, and an abruptness to his words that feels like home. 

“Brooklyn,” Steve confirms. 

“Crown Heights,” Barnes supplies. 

Steve looks at him then, really looks. Shit. That musta been why his religion wasn’t listed. 

He pulls the cards back into the deck, shuffles them, and starts dealing for Pinochle. 

*

“Evening, Sarge,” Steve greets. 

Barnes sighs. “It’s Bucky.”

“Nice to meetcha, Bucky. I’m Steve.” Steve puts down his cards. “You shout if you want to mix it up.” 

“You got any cigarettes?” Barnes asks. 

“I got hemp weed,” Steve smiles. 

“Huh,” Barnes looks intrigued. 

“What’ve you got?” Steve puts out the cards for poker. 

Barnes goes sour, eyes drifting back to his favorite wall. “I got nothing.” 

“I’ll give you a reefer for a good story,” Steve offers. 

Barnes looks over at him, stony. “I got _nothing_. You want something that’s worth something, you go somewhere else.” Barnes turns away from the cards, and Steve notices that when he turns away he tucks his stump under his side. 

“That it,” Steve snorts. “You feeling sorry for yourself?” 

“Fuck off,” Bucky growls, like he can play mad dog, scare Steve away. 

“I got news for you,” Steve stands to all his 5 feet 4 inches, challenging Barnes to stand, do anything. He keeps a careful few feet between them, and a hand near his pocket. “Just about everyone here’s missing a limb. You’re not special.” Steve eyes him. “You even got legs, yeah? Why don’t you use ‘em.” He pulls down the sheets, and Barnes glares at him. Good. 

“C’mon,” Steve opens the door, not bothering to look behind him. “Get your ass up.” He hears Barnes’ bare feet touch the floor. 

“This way,” Steve directs, leading Barnes down to PT. 

George is there with his prosthetic laced up, walking unsteadily with his hand on the ramp. Billy wheels backwards while he’s shouting George through it, perks up when he sees Steve, gives him a shy wave. 

Steve waves back. “Don’t you start telling me what you can’t do, that you’re nothing,” Steve says to Barnes under his breath. “You don’t let that voice lie to you. You find a way, or you make one.” 

Barnes starts walking back to his room, but it's not a loss. It’s the first time he’s been out since Steve started with him a week ago.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I accidentally published the first chapter twice, so sorry! Tech glitch, no idea how it happened. If you bookmarked or kudos'd there, feel free to switch to this one. Apologies if I deleted your comment from the copy fic :(

“Why are you making my job hard, huh?”

“I’m not hungry,” Bucky pushes the tray back again.

Steve sighs, world-weary. “You are, you just don’t know it.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Bucky huffs.

“Barnes,” Steve stands, grabs his folder from the corner of the room, shakes out a couple pages. He tacs them to the board in Bucky’s room with a little more force than necessary. “You see that? You’re underweight. Your weight hasn’t even managed to stabilize since you’ve been here. You don’t think you’re hungry because that’s one of the things that starvation does to your brain.”

“Alright,” Bucky says disinterestedly.

Steve stares at the many other readings in Barnes’ chart marked in bright red and fights the impulse to tear his hair out. “Hey, would you look at that,” Steve folds the sandwich up into a napkin and sticks it in his pocket. “Your Vitamin D is low.” He pokes Bucky with one long, bony finger. “Get up.”

“Why,” Bucky squints suspiciously.

“It’s medically necessary for you to receive at least 30 minutes of sunshine every day from now on,” Steve says cheerily.

“I’m not cleared to leave the facility,” Bucky doesn’t budge.

“You’re not cleared to interact with civilians,” Steve amends.

“Wasn’t born yesterday, Rogers. I know vitamins come in pills.”

Steve hisses a little through his teeth, and he sees Barnes straighten up and pay attention. “Look, do you want to go for a little walk to get your appetite up, or let them give you a feeding tube?”

Steve stares at Barnes for a few long moments. Barnes blinks first. “Fine.”

Ok, so taking Barnes off building grounds isn’t exactly something he’s allowed to do, but the reality is there are no civilians for miles. Even if Barnes randomly loses his shit, the worst he can do is run off and eventually track his scent back. Plus, Steve really is running out of ideas, and he doesn’t want to be the reason the poor guy gets a tube shoved down his nose.

Steve checks the hallway before he tosses Barnes a jacket. They’re all the way to the service entrance staircase when Steve hears a noise and freezes.

“You aren’t sneaking me out are you, Rogers?” Barnes asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Shut up,” Steve hisses quietly. Footsteps fade to silence, and he relaxes.

They make their way out into the sunlight, and when Steve turns around Barnes is giving the sky the first genuine smile he’s seen.

Steve rolls his eyes. “C’mon, you big mook,” he gestures to the tree line. “They’re not gonna bust in with your door closed, but I’d rather not take my chances.”

“Afraid you’ll lose your job?” Barnes laughs.

Steve stiffens. “Yeah, actually. Problem?”

Barnes raises his hands, palms out. Leaves crunch under his feet as he walks forward. “I figured you got drafted. Or you enlisted, figured out pretty quick it wasn’t what you thought it’d be.”

“I’m doing my part,” Steve grits his teeth and starts hiking uphill, “as much as they’ll let me. You don’t like it, you can be someone else’s problem.”

Bucky frowns. “Hey now, don’t go putting words in my mouth. I’m not trying to pick a fight.”

“Just walk,” Steve says irritably.

Bucky figures out pretty quickly how out of shape he is. He can feel his heart beat in his throat, focuses only on the dirt and crunch of leaves beneath his feet. He nearly runs into Steve where he’s paused on a ledge, grabs him quickly by the arm when he realizes.

“Oof!” Steve exclaims like the air’s been punched out of him, and sits down on a weathered rock when Bucky lets him go.

“Sorry,” Bucky says absently, distracted by the view. He plops down on the rock next to Steve.

“How bad do you feel about it? ‘Cause,” Steve pulls the sandwich out of his pocket and unwraps it from the napkin.

Bucky laughs. “Yeah, alright.” He nibbles away at the crust and finds, surprisingly, that the feeling of starch sliding over his tongue doesn’t make him want to vomit.

“’S nice, right?” Steve extends a hand, a little out of breath, cheeks pink with exertion. “I like the colors, this time of year.” He rubs his sternum with his knuckles. “Could do without the cold air, though.”

Bucky stares at the cascade of yellow creeping down the valley. “I haven’t been outside for two years,” he says casually, finishing up his sandwich.

Steve stares at him. “What you mean, you haven’t been outside?”

“Well, for about two years I was busy being tortured,” he says dryly, “then I woke up in a medical tent. Then I was here.” He shrugs. “I forgot what this felt like. It’s nice.”

“Jesus,” Steve blinks. “Buddy, you take your time.”

When evening starts to really set in, Bucky notices Steve grimacing and breathing into his hands. He stands, gives Steve a hand up.

“Thanks,” Bucky says awkwardly.

“Don’t mention it, and we’re fine,” Steve shrugs him off.

The closer they get to the compound, the further Barnes retreats inside himself. It reinforces Steve’s belief that taking him out was the right thing to do; he was wasting away in there, staying sick, institutionalized. He needed a kick to the system, to get back into life a little. 

There’s a truck sitting near the service entrance, half unloaded. There’s only one driver in sight, though, and it’ll be easy to slip past him. Steve turns to Barnes to make sure he’s paying attention. Barnes looks a little sick, frowning at the door ahead of them like he’s just been told to go check out the crawl space under the house.

Barnes catches Steve’s gaze, nods when Steve raises his eyebrows. He waits until the driver steps into the back of his truck, then gestures Bucky on and dashes forward.

When he reaches the door, Bucky isn’t with him.

He’s standing frozen in place by the truck, like he doesn’t even see Steve gesturing wildly at him.

“Barnes,” Steve hisses. “For the love of-.” You try to do one fucking good thing. 

“Hey, man,” he hears the truck driver say to Bucky. “You ok?” 

Steve dashes back toward the truck, gasping a little. He’s already been pushing it with the hike and the cold air. He inhales something sharp, bitter, and it makes him cough. Antiseptic. Metal. He swears they get as many medical supplies here as they do food deliveries. 

“You don’t look good. Why don’t we get you inside?” the driver asks, concerned, and Steve sees his blurry shape in the greying light place a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. 

Barnes growls, low and menacing, and Steve’s blood runs cold. He can barely smell it over the spilled bottle of antiseptic, but it’s there. Fight. Steve feels his pulse jump, adrenaline pushing him just that much further to get to Bucky.

“Bucky,” Steve gasps, “hey, listen to me-.”

Bucky twitches like a fly just buzzed past his ear, and calmly ignores him. 

“Shit, shit,” Steve hisses under his breath, pulling out his tranq gun. In the time he takes to flick off the safety, Bucky’s got the driver up by his throat with his one good hand, snarling. The driver must be a beta- he looks terrified, goes as limp as he possibly can.

_Play dead. Don’t let the alpha think you’re a threat. Clear out any other alphas or betas. Send in an omega, preferably one the alpha recognizes._

“Sorry, Barnes,” Steve winces, and fires the tranq. “You’ll thank me later.”

The dart buries itself in Barnes’ torso. 

He doesn’t drop. He doesn’t even look like he felt the damn thing. 

Steve gapes. He only carries one loaded tranq dart. Any more and he wouldn’t be able to hide it. That’s an entire fucking tube of night-night drugs, and Barnes hasn’t even relaxed his grip on the guy’s throat. The driver’s making these horrible gagging noises, and Steve stands there, in shock. He’s heard of some crazy shit, bullets feeling like bee stings to enraged Alpha mothers trying to protect their kids, but nothing like this. This isn’t even human. 

Steve runs over to Barnes, because he can’t just watch him kill someone while he’s half out of his mind. 

“Bucky,” he gasps, “Bucky, please, let him go,” he tugs at Barnes’ shirt. 

Barnes ignores him. The driver’s gasps for air are getting thinner, and Steve can feel his own echoing him as he panics. 

_An alpha in fight rarely harms an omega. In an instinctive state, they’re more inclined to be protective of an omega, especially one of their own. Sometimes, even to their detriment._

“Bucky,” Steve gasps, lets the full wheeze of his breaths fill the space between them. “Bucky, help,” he manages, sliding to sit on the ground.

Barnes’ eyes snap to him, and he drops the driver like it’s nothing. He crouches down over Steve, scenting him in a fussy way that would be endearing if it weren’t for that crazed, almost pained look in his eyes. 

Steve closes his eyes, tries to count his breaths down, to not think about the driver next to him still gasping. Barnes’ arm snakes around his back, propping him up.

Steve tries to say something, but he finds he really can’t catch his breath, and panics a little more.

He feels himself being scooped up into Barnes’ lap, back to chest, and makes a garbled sound of protest. Barnes backs off a little, but steadfastly makes sure his head is propped up on his shoulder. He even makes little fussy noises, clicking and humming.

Steve’s just getting to the point where he can sit up, lightheaded, when he hears Miss Evangeline’s voice. 

“What on earth,” her voice carries over the hushed whispers of the other omegas clustered in the doorway. Steve closes his eyes for a moment.

“Rogers,” she barks. 

“Ma’am,” he says, trying not to let the exhaustion seep into his voice. “I-“

“Respectfully, ma’am,” Barnes cuts in, obviously working to manage verbal speech. “Steve wouldn’t know… what happened. We were walking a little, in the halls, to get, my appetite up,” he ducks his head. “I smelled the spilled antiseptic, on the driver, got a little stuck. Thought I was somewhere else. Went into Fight, stalked the driver out here. I, I grabbed the driver by the throat,” Bucky swallows, “and Steve-“

Steve glares at him silently.

“Steve faked an injury, to get me to let go of him. It was a smart thing to do. This is all my fault- if I’d listened before, done what I was supposed to… I lost control too easily. I’m dangerous. I understand now. I’m sorry,” he looks at the driver.

The driver shakes his head, waves him away, but doesn’t quite manage any words. Bucky looks completely wrecked.

“What can I do?” he asks the driver. 

“You can take responsibility for your actions,” Miss Evangeline says crisply. “And you can focus on getting yourself to the point of health where this will not happen again.” She faces the other omegas crowded around her. “Go back to your rooms.” She says without fanfare. “You too, Barnes. That is, if you’re quite alright, Rogers.”

Bucky opens his mouth, but Steve cuts him off. “Fine, ma’am.” He says clearly. He grabs Barnes’ elbow and stands, a little unsteadily, Barnes following him up.

Steve closes the door behind them. Barnes stands over by his bed, looking a little cagey.

“Are you mad?” Barnes asks. “You’ve got every right to be.”

Steve sighs. “No, not with you. I would be, except I know you’re telling the truth. You’ve got just about the worst case of shell shock I’ve ever seen, and your hormones are so fucked I’m surprised you didn’t go into Fight when Williams accidentally gave me the sauce I’m allergic to for lunch. C’mon.”

Steve strips out of his shirt and pants, leaves on his boxers, and climbs into Barnes’ bed. 

“What,” Bucky swallows dryly, “what are you doing?” 

“We’re cuddling,” Steve informs him. “It’s better with more skin contact, makes your hormones calm down.” He squirms onto the other side of the bed, flips up the covers. “Trust me.” 

Bucky takes off his pants, leaves his shirt and boxers on. He gets into the bed so gingerly that Steve second guesses.

“If you don’t wanna, there’ve been some studies that say scent therapy alone-“ 

Barnes swings his other leg into the bed, and pulls the covers up over them both. “This is fine.”

Steve flicks out the bedside lamp, and waits a few minutes, hyperaware of how still Barnes is.

“Making me to all the work, typical,” Steve grunts. “Hold on.” 

Steve reaches under the bed, clicks open the latch on one of the boxes tucked there. He comes back with a blanket that he tucks under the top sheet, over Bucky’s body. It’s impossibly soft, and Steve hums under his breath when he finishes tucking it around Bucky and pulls the other half over himself. 

Then he scoots back into the curve of Bucky’s body until they’re spooning. Bucky’s hand flutters over his hip until Steve grabs it, rests it firmly on his stomach. Bucky makes a little noise; he can’t help it. 

“Yeah, yeah, c’mon,” Steve lets go of his hand, rubs at the scent glands on his own neck. Bucky huffs in surprise, buries his nose there. It’s rude, it’s- god, it’s nice. “Relax,” Steve chides. “I’m the Catholic. You don’t even believe in a hell.” 

Bucky snorts into the side of Steve’s neck, cuddles up against him until they’re touching head to toe, breathes out a long sigh. “No more talking,” he mumbles. He wants so badly to press a quick little kiss to Steve’s neck, but he doesn’t want Steve to make fun of him for it. 

Steve moves his hand back down to Bucky’s and strokes his knuckles idly. His fingers are so small, Bucky thinks absently. His whole body is so small, up close like this. Steve always seems so much bigger. 

“Go to sleep, Buck,” Steve says softly. “War’s over for you, now. You’re done.” He leans back to tuck Bucky’s too-long hair behind his ear, and Bucky ducks his head into his pillow at the kindness of the gesture. “’S always better in the morning.”

There are about a hundred ways Bucky could laugh at the simplicity of that statement, but he doesn’t. With Steve curled up in his arms, breathing steadily and easily, some instinct in the back of his mind finally, finally shuts up. He falls all the way asleep, and doesn’t wake up once with inexplicable dread to the sound of footsteps in the hall.


	3. Chapter 3

Steve comes back to consciousness slowly, vaguely aware of Bucky’s hand resting on his stomach before he slips back into a warm, hazy sleep.

At first, Bucky’s lips on his neck don’t register as anything more than the warmth filling his body. Then Bucky’s fingers circle around his shoulder, down to his elbow, squeezing as they go. He sighs when Bucky squeezes through each joint of his fingers, but Bucky doesn’t comment, just moves to as much of the other arm as he can reach.

“Hey,” Steve greets.

“Hey,” Bucky mumbles, rubbing his stubbled cheek over the smooth skin of Steve’s bonding gland.

*

“You’re feeling adventurous this morning,” Steve comments as Bucky leans in to kiss him on the lips.

Bucky snorts, returns to his favorite task of rubbing Steve’s scent over as much of his face as he can.

*

Bucky’s hand is on his hip, his lips on his neck. His teeth drag lightly over Steve’s bonding gland, and Steve lets out a shaky breath.

The broad hand on his hip spasms, then sneaks up to wrap an arm around Steve's waist, to press every inch of his body as close Bucky's as he can get.

Steve can feel how hard he is, just the tip of his cock pressing tentatively against Steve’s ass, unsure of his boundaries. 

Steve pushes his boxers off, spoons back into Bucky’s embrace, completely naked. He takes Bucky’s hand in his and guides it down.

Bucky tentatively rubs two fingers between Steve’s legs, moans when he feels how wet he is. He pauses, takes a deep breath. 

“Can I have you?” Bucky asks, hand trailing back up over Steve’s hip, his side. 

“Yeah, Buck,” Steve tugs at the waistband of Bucky’s boxers. “Of course.”

*

Bucky likes to wake him up slow every morning, a kiss on his neck, thumbs rubbing steadily between his shoulder blades, keeping Steve warm and hazy when Steve’s thighs start to tremble and Bucky finally slides into him. 

There’s a lot Steve doesn’t know about Bucky, a lot he knows Bucky carries with him but might never tell. 

His chart evens out more every day; weight gained, deconditioning reversing, hormones stabilizing. Risk of Fight: imminent, severe, moderate…

Bucky’s not better, in a lot of ways. He probably won’t ever be. But Miss Evangeline smiles and congratulates Steve on a job well done, predicts Bucky’s time with them in weeks rather than months.

*

Bucky grazes his teeth over Steve’s neck for the third time this morning, fucking into him as deep as he can, wrapping the mass of his body around Steve’s smaller one. 

“I wonder what you’re thinking about,” Steve teases.

“Oh,” Bucky lays a kiss over the irritated skin. “You wouldn’t like it.”

Steve, of course, takes this as a challenge. “Try me.”

“I’m thinking how much I want to get rid of this condom,” Bucky huffs, his breath warm on Steve’s shoulder. “How much I want to bite down and make you mine. Take care of you in heat, knot you. Get you pregnant. Make you smell like me so everyone knows who’s been inside you.”

Steve laughs, startled. “You don’t go halfway, do you Barnes?”

Bucky pulls out of him, roll Steve over onto his back, grasps under one knee and presses up so he’s spread open. He pushes back inside him, and his expression is earnest, wistful. 

“You don’t ever think about it? Having somewhere nice to live, lots of light. Someone who loves you. A family. Never?”

“Not compatible,” Steve breathes a quiet moan, “with the job, Barnes.”

“I could just bite,” Bucky says, darting a glance at his neck. “You could tell them we bonded. We could both go home, leave this hellhole.”

“Barnes,” Steve shakes his head. 

“We could be happy,” Bucky tries. “I’d take good care of you. Whatever you want to do, I’d figure out a way to make sure you could.”

“Bucky,” Steve says gently. “No.”

Bucky pauses, touching their foreheads together. “I know,” he sighs. “Hard to imagine you somewhere quiet. You’re not meant for that, I don’t think. But you asked. That’s what I think about.”

“You’ll find someone in no time,” Steve reassures him. “Someone nice.”

Bucky laughs. “You probably get about four proposals a day, huh? Can’t be too tempted by me.”

Steve opens his mouth to respond, but Bucky kisses him quiet. 

*

“Don’t isolate yourself,” Steve says, swallowing. “You’ve been working hard, don’t want to undo alla that in a couple months.”

“Sure thing, Sarge,” Bucky smiles, brittle, stuffing a pair of socks into his bag.

“Find someone nice,” Steve orders. “For me.”

Bucky walks over to him, cups the back of his neck, kisses him deep until Steve relaxes a little. 

“Don’t worry about me,” Bucky winks. “I’m like a bad penny, can’t seem to stop turning up.”

*

_Steve,_

_Looks like I’m not going to get that house after all. A couple months hadn’t even passed before Howard Stark himself tracked me down. Yeah, the inventor. Can you believe that? He says the Nazis made me into a superhuman or something. I’m thinking the “or something” is more likely, but him and some of the brass disagreed. Anyway, long story short I’ll be back on your side of the pond soon. I’d like to see you, if you wouldn’t mind seeing me. Just drinks, whatever you want. Keep fighting the good fight, Rogers._

_Hope you’re well,  
Bucky Barnes_

Steve puts his pack down on his desk, pulls out paper and a pen. 

_Bucky,_

_Only have a minute, will write again when I can. I can’t say much, but I’m leaving the center. The SSR gave me an offer, and I’m taking them up on it. Some experiment- I can hear you yelling from the other side of the Atlantic, but listen for a minute. I’ve been sick for a long time, and I’m tired of it. More than I let on. This can fix me. Hasn’t worked like they hoped so far, but they think they might have had the wrong kind of test subjects._

_If it works, I might be pulled into that fight along with you. Keep a lookout for me._

_My best,  
Steve Rogers_

_P.S. It was the most tempted I'd ever been._

There’s a sharp rap on the door, and Steve quickly folds the letter, seals it in an envelope. He opens the door. 

“We’d best catch our train,” an agent in a sharp SSR uniform and crisp matte lipstick reminds him. “I’m sorry to cut your goodbyes short.”

“I’m ready, Agent Carter,” Steve shoulders his bag gamely, and she smiles. 

*

“Dugan- what’s that face?” Bucky frowns. 

“Cap, you aren’t gonna believe this,” Dum Dum pulls up a chair, lays his hat on the table. 

“Try me,” Bucky leans back, crosses his arms. 

“Dernier, Jones, and I get to the base, right?” Dum Dum illustrates the small facility expansively. “And we lay our charges. Except we come to find out there’s this little guy they’re holding captive, so we gotta rescue him in two minutes.” Dum Dum spins his hat. “Things got sweaty there for a minute, about twenty guards, nothing we couldn’t handle.”

“Sure,” Bucky huffs, quickly trimming that number to ten. 

“So I grab ‘im and start running, except he knees me right in the jewels! Hard, mind you,” Dugan winces. “Starts yelling about how us goddamn knotheads are blowing his op, that he’s been working information out of these squids for two months.”

Bucky leans forward, interested. “An omega?”

“Yeah!” Dernier exclaims. “Ninety pounds of fury if I ever saw it, and I mean that. Little guy packs one hell of a punch.”

“Steve,” Bucky breathes.

**Author's Note:**

> by request: The Crown Heights reference means that Bucky is a Jew- Crown Heights is an area of Brooklyn particularly known for its density of Jews (per square..city block?)


End file.
